


An Act of Love

by skywalkersamidala



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/pseuds/skywalkersamidala
Summary: When Lorenzo finds out that two of his exes are marrying each other and have invited him to the wedding, his pride won't let him show up alone even though he's currently single, so he decides to do what any sensible person would do in the situation: enlist his roommate Francesco to come with him to the wedding as his pretend fiancé.
Relationships: Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi, Lucrezia Donati/Clarice Orsini (background)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh,” Lorenzo said, staring down at something he’d just gotten in the mail. “Huh.”

Francesco could tell he was trying to get him to ask him what was up, so he determinedly kept his eyes on his laptop and pretended not to be listening.

“So crazy.”

Francesco loudly clicked around and typed a long string of nonsense letters so Lorenzo would think he was busy.

“I never would’ve imagined _this.”_

Francesco sighed and grudgingly said, “What’s up?” because there was only so much he could take.

“You remember Clarice Orsini and Lucrezia Donati? My exes?”

“I remember you telling me about them after the fact, but you dated both of them during the Dark Times so I never met either of them.”

Francesco and Lorenzo had been best friends as children but had been driven apart by Francesco’s uncle when they were ten, after his parents’ deaths, and they hadn’t reconnected until Jacopo’s death and their siblings’ wedding five years ago. Lorenzo always solemnly referred to their period of enmity as “the Dark Times,” which Francesco found melodramatic and ridiculous, but he’d gotten in the habit of doing the same thing because it was just quicker than saying “the fifteen years we weren’t speaking.”

“Oh, right,” Lorenzo said. “Well, they’re getting married.”

“To who?”

“Each other.”

Francesco stared at him for a second, and then he started snickering. “Oh my God.”

“Come on, it’s not funny,” Lorenzo complained.

“It damn well is. It’s not every day that two of your exes dump you and run off with each other.”

“Okay, that is _so_ not what happened. _I_ dumped _Lucrezia_ because I was tired of being her side hoe—”

“Since when do you ever get tired of being anyone’s hoe, side or otherwise?” Francesco asked. “You’re just mad because Lucrezia likes Clarice enough to make her her main hoe when she wouldn’t do that for you. Not just her main hoe, but her _only_ hoe. Hopefully.”

“All right, well—”

“Also, Clarice _did_ dump you.”

Lorenzo sniffed. “We mutually decided that we wanted different things in life and weren’t right for each other long-term.”

“So she dumped you.”

“…Yeah.”

“And ran off with one of your exes. Then again, that shouldn’t be a surprise, most of Italy must be your ex by now. Someone would have a harder time finding someone to date who _isn’t_ your ex.”

“Why has this conversation descended into slutshaming me?” Lorenzo said crossly. “The _point_ is, two of my exes are marrying each other and they invited me to the wedding, but I’m not seeing anyone right now—”

“For once.”

“Shut up! I’m not seeing anyone right now, so I don’t have anyone to take as a plus-one,” Lorenzo fretted. “But I can’t show up _alone.”_

“Why not?” Francesco said.

“Because it would be _embarrassing!_ Showing up to my exes’ wedding alone!”

Francesco rolled his eyes. “Don’t go, then.”

“Don’t go? Don’t go?! That would be even worse!” Lorenzo said. “They’d think I wasn’t over one or both of them and was too depressed to come to their wedding.”

“Or that you’re just busy that day,” Francesco said. “You’re way overthinking this.”

But Lorenzo wasn’t listening to him (did he ever?). “No, the only option is to go to the wedding with a date, preferably a gorgeous one, and preferably one I’m in a serious relationship with,” he said; Francesco wondered if he was even still talking to him or just thinking out loud. “That would show that I too have moved on and met someone I love.”

“Have you really moved on if you’re this hung up about their wedding?” Francesco said.

“Of course I have. I _am_ happy for them, honestly,” Lorenzo said. “But for the sake of my pride, I would really prefer to attend the wedding with a significant other of my own.”

“So go out this weekend and meet someone, and then take them to the wedding,” said Francesco, who was extremely done with this conversation. “Not that hard, especially for someone who looks like you.”

He regretted that last bit the second it left his mouth. Lorenzo _was_ objectively good-looking, yes, but Francesco really shouldn’t inflate his ego any further. Though a desire to avoid inflating Lorenzo’s ego didn’t exactly explain why he felt himself blushing as Lorenzo turned to look at him.

Lorenzo stared at him for so long that Francesco was about to say something dumb like _just kidding, I think you’re ugly,_ but then at last Lorenzo spoke. “I have an idea,” he said slowly. “What if I take _you?_ To the wedding?”

“Me?” Francesco repeated incredulously. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Well, per your own requirements, you need someone ‘gorgeous.’”

“Yes, and?” Lorenzo said, not looking like he had an objection on that count.

Francesco, hating himself, blushed even harder. “And someone you’re in a serious relationship with,” he managed. “So.”

“So…I’ll tell them you’re my boyfriend—no, fiancé!” Lorenzo said, grinning at his own ingenuity.

Francesco gaped at him. “No!”

“It’s perfect! I’ll show up with you on my arm and introduce you to them as my fiancé, and that way I save my pride, Clarice and Lucrezia are reassured I’m not upset about them getting married, and you get some free food out of it.”

“No way in hell,” Francesco said, unable to believe that talking Lorenzo out of pretending to be engaged to him was a real thing he had to do. “First of all, I’m sure that at their own wedding they’ll have much better things to concern themselves with than if you’re upset about it. And second of all, if you’re not capable of finding a real significant other within the next six weeks, get one of your other friends to do it, they’re way more willing to put up with your—your _shenanigans_ than I am.”

“This is not a shenanigan, Francesco, this is serious.”

“This is the _definition_ of a shenanigan.”

“Well, regardless, Clarice and Lucrezia both know all my other friends, whereas, as you just said, neither of them ever met you,” Lorenzo pointed out, and Francesco cursed his own slip of the tongue. “So they’d be more likely to believe I fell in love with you than with Sandro or Poliziano or whoever else.”

“No one would believe that anyone would fall in love with Sandro or Poliziano,” Francesco said, wrinkling his nose. “You’re right, I _am_ by far the best catch of all your friends, so I _would_ be the fake fiancé that would make you look the best…”

“That’s not really what I meant—”

“I mean, showing up engaged to a pathetic excuse for a painter or a pathetic excuse for a writer would be just as bad as showing up alone, if not worse, but showing up engaged to the president of the most successful bank in Florence? Now _that’s_ prestige.”

“Second most successful,” Lorenzo grumbled; it was a point they playfully argued all the time, though any real rivalry between the Medici and Pazzi banks had died with Jacopo. “And I just need a fiancé, not a sugar daddy. If anything, I’d prefer _you_ to be the trophy fiancé in this scenario.”

Francesco scoffed. “You’re obviously the trophy fiancé.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be the trophy fiancé _if_ you agree to the plan. Please?” Lorenzo wheedled. “Like you said, Clarice and Lucrezia are obviously going to be pretty busy, so you’ll only have to pretend to be in love with me for, like, thirty seconds when we’re congratulating them at the reception, and the rest of the time it’ll be just like any other wedding.”

“I hate weddings,” Francesco muttered.

“Pleeeaase?”

Now Lorenzo was giving him his best pleading expression, his blue eyes wide and sad and his mouth in a little pout, and it was ridiculous because Francesco _knew_ how calculated that expression was and how long Lorenzo had spent perfecting it for maximum impact, but it was working on him anyway.

“Ugh. Fine,” he grumbled. “But you owe me big time.”

“Yay! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Lorenzo threw his arms around him and hugged him tight, and Francesco wasn’t sure why his stomach was doing backflips because Lorenzo had always been annoyingly touchy-feely and had hugged him a million times before.

Suddenly flustered, Francesco awkwardly extracted himself from the embrace, and fortunately Lorenzo didn’t seem to find it strange (Francesco was notoriously _not_ touchy-feely). “Yeah, whatever,” Francesco said. “But like I said, you owe me. This is a deal, not a favor.”

“Okay,” Lorenzo said. “What do you want? I’ll do anything. Within reason. And it has to be a favor of equal magnitude as what you’re doing for me.”

Francesco considered it a minute. He couldn’t think of anything he especially needed from Lorenzo off the top of his head. Cover the entire rent for a month? No, Francesco could easily afford his half of the rent, that would be a waste of a favor. Do all the chores around the apartment? Chores were never really an issue for them, as they were both pretty neat, and besides, Francesco liked spending the occasional Sunday cleaning, it relaxed him.

“You’ll owe me a favor I can cash in anytime in the future,” he settled on. “Either one big favor or multiple smaller favors.”

“Deal,” Lorenzo said, and then he got down on one knee and grinned up at Francesco. “Francesco Pazzi, light of my life, it would make me the happiest man in the world if you would do me the honor of—”

“Don’t push it.”

* * *

As luck would have it, Lorenzo and Francesco ran into Clarice at the grocery store a few days later. “Clarice, hi!” Lorenzo said, smiling. “It’s so good to see you!”

Clarice smiled back and gave him a quick hug. “You too, it’s been ages! I hope you’re well?”

“Very well, thanks.” Realizing this was the perfect opportunity to get the ball rolling on the ruse, he gestured to Francesco and said, “This is Francesco Pazzi, my fiancé.”

He heard Francesco heave a sigh, but luckily Clarice didn’t seem to notice. “Clarice Orsini. It’s nice to meet you, Francesco,” she said. “And congratulations! I didn’t know you were engaged, Lorenzo.”

“Thanks. It…happened just the other day, actually, we haven’t told that many people yet,” Lorenzo said, thinking quickly to explain why no one knew about this alleged engagement yet. After all, while Clarice had spent most of her life in Rome, Lucrezia was from Florence and had several mutual friends with Lorenzo, not to mention a sharp ear for gossip, and would surely have heard about his engagement by now if it was common knowledge.

“Well, then, extra congratulations,” Clarice said, smiling at them both.

“Thanks,” said Francesco, who sounded more bored and less lovesick than Lorenzo would have hoped. Even so, Lorenzo couldn’t help a fond little smile as he glanced over at the impatient and vaguely grumpy expression Francesco was wearing. Francesco’s grumpy face was much less intimidating than he probably thought it was; in fact, it had always put Lorenzo in mind of a sulking kitten. Not that he would ever say so to Francesco.

“…glad things have worked out so well between you,” Clarice was saying, and Lorenzo quickly looked back over at her and refocused on what she was saying. “I remember you always saying how much you missed him, Lorenzo.”

“Did he?” Francesco said. Out of the corner of his eye, Lorenzo saw him looking more interested in the conversation.

“Oh yes, he told me all about how you two were best friends, but then you had that fight and stopped speaking,” Clarice said. “And when Bianca and Guglielmo got engaged, he was excited about the prospect of seeing you at the wedding and being able to mend fences. _Is_ that what happened?” She and Lorenzo had broken up a few months before the wedding.

“Uh-huh,” Lorenzo said. “I sat him down for a chat during the reception—”

“Cornered me, more like,” Francesco said. “And in such a way that I couldn’t have escaped without making a scene.”

“—and we reconnected and spent the whole evening talking, and then we met up for lunch the following weekend, and the rest is history,” Lorenzo finished, smiling at Francesco, who was looking back at him with a markedly softer expression that made Lorenzo’s stomach do a funny little flip.

For some reason, he felt obliged to return his attention to Clarice and change the subject. “But that’s enough about us, _you’re_ the one who’s actually getting married soon,” Lorenzo said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I just got the invitation in the mail the other day, it was so thoughtful of you to invite me.”

“Well, when _both_ the brides have dated you…” Clarice said with a grin, and Lorenzo laughed, weirdly relieved to hear her address that elephant in the room so casually.

“I didn’t expect to see you in Florence. Are you and Lucrezia living here now?” he said next, and now Francesco was back to sighing and fidgeting and making a show of checking the grocery list.

“Yes, we just bought this cute house a little outside the main city…”

They chatted for another minute or two before going their separate ways. “Thanks for playing along,” Lorenzo said once Clarice was out of earshot.

“Not like I had a choice,” Francesco replied grouchily. “Do you think we can make it through the rest of our errands without running into any more of your extremely numerous exes? Because I had things I wanted to do today.”

“I love how supportive you are, darling.”

“Fuck off.”

Lorenzo thought no more of the encounter until the following weekend. Saturday evening dinners at Lucrezia de’ Medici’s house had become a staple in the years since all three children had moved out. Lorenzo usually dragged Francesco with him too, insisting he was part of the family now that Guglielmo and Bianca were married, and Francesco always complained but Lorenzo knew he secretly enjoyed feeling like he belonged to a real family again.

On this Saturday in particular, they’d hardly shut the front door behind them when several people started exclaiming “Congratulations!” and Lorenzo and Francesco were abruptly engulfed in a very tight hug.

“Oof,” Lorenzo said, but the hugger, whom he’d realized was his mother, just hugged them tighter.

“Oh, I’m so happy for both of you!” she gushed. “I _do_ wish I’d heard it from you directly, but I know it just happened, so I’m sure you were planning to tell us all soon, maybe even tonight—”

“What are you talking about?” Lorenzo said.

Lucrezia let go of them at last and beamed at them. “Your engagement, of course!”

Lorenzo’s eyes widened, and he glanced over at Francesco and saw that he looked equally stunned. “Our engagement?” Francesco said.

“Yes, you see, Maddalena Orsini was in Florence yesterday visiting Clarice and seeing the new house, and you know she’s an old friend of mine, so we met up for coffee downtown before she went home, and she told me that Clarice told her she ran into you last week, Lorenzo, and you mentioned to her that you and Francesco are engaged!”

Panicked, Lorenzo looked around the room and took in the full scene in front of him. It wasn’t just their family there, but also Sandro, Poliziano, the Cavalcanti brothers, and several of Lorenzo’s other friends, as well as Luca and Bastiano Soderini and other coworkers from the Medici bank, and a few family friends. Clearly, Lucrezia had thrown together some sort of impromptu engagement party.

How could he look all these people in the eye and admit that the alleged engagement was just a ruse to protect his sorry pride at his exes’ wedding? No, he couldn’t do it, it would be utterly humiliating.

So when Francesco started to say, “Well, actually, the thing is—” Lorenzo quickly interrupted him.

“You’re right, we _were_ planning to tell you all tonight,” he said, putting on his best sheepish smile. “But I guess the cat’s out of the bag, so…”

And everyone started exclaiming again and hugging them both, despite the fact that Francesco was glaring daggers at Lorenzo and giving off clear do-not-hug vibes. Lorenzo gave him a please-just-play-along look and got a fine-but-you-owe-me-even-more one in reply.

Since when had he and Francesco been the sort of people who didn’t need words to communicate with each other?

But Lorenzo put it out of his mind as Lucrezia ushered everyone to sit down in the living room and plied them with wine (Francesco downed his in one gulp and poured himself some more, looking suspiciously annoyed for a supposedly newly engaged man).

“Wait a minute, none of you seem that surprised,” Lorenzo realized. “Considering we, uh, never even told anyone that we were dating.”

“Oh, we all just kind of assumed it ages ago,” Bianca said. “I mean, you’ve been ‘roommates’ for so long…” She put airquotes around the word.

“Yeah, why else would two rich and allegedly single thirty-year-olds voluntarily choose to share an apartment, just the two of them?” Giuliano said. “We’re not stupid, you know.”

Now that Lorenzo was thinking about it...why _had_ he and Francesco voluntarily chosen to share an apartment? At first it was because Francesco was moving back from Rome and Lorenzo had offered him his spare bedroom while he was getting settled, but why were they _still_ living together? Why hadn’t Francesco moved into his own apartment years ago? Why hadn’t Lorenzo kicked him out? Why hadn’t he even _noticed_ that Francesco had stayed so far past the time he’d expected him to move out?

“Not to mention that you always had such a crush on him when you were in school, Lorenzo,” Lucrezia said fondly. “So once you became friends again, I for one was sure it would only be a matter of time before something else developed.”

“I did _not_ have a crush on him,” Lorenzo spluttered, mortified.

“Like hell you didn’t,” Sandro said. “You wrote poems about him. _Poems.”_

Francesco’s expression immediately went from murderous to smug, which Lorenzo supposed was less harmful to their ruse, though it was infinitely more harmful to his pride. “Oh really?” Francesco said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Lorenzo’s face was on fire. “It was _one_ poem,” he grumbled. “And it was a—a literary exercise, not anything that reflected my actual feelings.”

“Sure,” Sandro said, grinning.

“Don’t feel bad, Lorenzo, it’s not like Francesco’s feelings were a secret either,” Guglielmo said.

“Really? Because I was pretty sure he’d never had a feeling in his life,” Giuliano snarked.

“Let’s hear more about Francesco’s feelings,” Lorenzo said eagerly.

“Let’s not,” Francesco said, but Guglielmo had already started talking again.

“Not so much when we were younger, but these past few years I definitely started noticing it,” he said. “Just the way he looks at Lorenzo—”

“Oooh, yes, his eyes go all soft,” Bianca said.

“They do no such thing!” Francesco protested, but Lorenzo could picture the exact soft expression so easily, he realized in astonishment that Bianca and Guglielmo were right. Strange…

“I’ve known him since the day he was born and I’ve never seen him look at anyone else that way,” Guglielmo said. Lorenzo was pleased to see that now Francesco was the one blushing. Served him right.

“So you see, we all had our suspicions,” Lucrezia concluded. “Of course, we would have appreciated you confirming them to us _before_ getting engaged…”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Lorenzo said, trying to think of a plausible explanation. “But…well, you know Francesco, he prefers keeping his personal life very private, so he wanted our relationship to stay between us. Until now, obviously.”

“Oh, yes, of course it’s my fault,” Francesco said, but everyone else was nodding as if this made perfect sense.

“How’d you convince him to marry you, then?” Giuliano said. “Seeing as he’d rather die than admit to people that he has experienced an emotion for somebody.”

“Believe it or not, Francesco has a much bigger and more tender heart than you might think,” Lorenzo said, earning him an irritated huff from Francesco and an eyeroll from Giuliano. “And there was no convincing needed. I just told him the truth. That he’s my favorite person in the world and I love him and I can’t imagine a future without him by my side.”

Unconsciously, Lorenzo had turned to look at Francesco beside him, and as he spoke, Francesco looked up and met his eyes. And Lorenzo realized that in a way, everything he’d just said was true. Francesco _was_ his favorite person in the world, and Lorenzo _did_ love him. As his best friend rather than his fiancé, sure, but still, he loved him so much that sometimes there were moments when Lorenzo would look at him and just feel amazed that this incredible, brilliant, fascinating person actually liked spending time with him.

He really _couldn’t_ imagine a future without Francesco. He’d had that for fifteen years and those fifteen years were the Dark Times of his life. Lorenzo never wanted that experience again.

For a moment, as he and Francesco looked at each other, the rest of the room fell away and Lorenzo could feel… _something_ between them, something charged with emotions he couldn’t name. But then Francesco was dropping his eyes and taking another sip of wine, and Lorenzo hastily turned his attention back to the conversation.

“So how long have you actually been together?” Bianca was asking.

Lorenzo frantically racked his memory to determine how long it had been since he’d last mentioned seeing someone who wasn’t Francesco to any of the people present and settled on, “About a year.” The past year for him had been limited to one-night stands or first dates with people from dating apps, during which he’d always immediately decided he wasn’t interested in a second date. Certainly nothing worth telling his family or friends about; the only person who was aware of these one-night stands was Francesco, who always loaded Lorenzo up with noise complaints the next morning.

“Really? Because I seem to remember some nights out within the past year when you definitely acted like a single man,” Giuliano said, raising his eyebrows.

Oops. “Oh, well, we had an open relationship for a while,” Lorenzo improvised. “Totally monogamous now, though.”

Impulsively, he put his arm around Francesco’s shoulders and pulled him into his side, which made Francesco tense up, but at least he didn’t throw his arm off. “A monogamous Lorenzo?” Giuliano said. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Neither did I,” Francesco said, which made everyone laugh though Lorenzo was sure he’d meant it as an insult.

Lorenzo enjoyed himself more than he probably should’ve fabricating relationship details like who made the first move (Lorenzo), where they went on their first date (the Uffizi Gallery), who said “I love you” first (also Lorenzo). Francesco remained in a sullen silence unless directly asked a question. Lorenzo hoped everyone would think he was just shy about discussing so many details of his personal life in front of all these people.

The grilling continued after Lucrezia had ushered everyone into the dining room and throughout most of the meal too. At one point Lorenzo excused himself to use the bathroom, and when he came out he started in surprise as he opened the door to reveal Francesco standing right on the other side glaring at him.

“Uh, hey,” Lorenzo said. “What’s up?”

“What exactly is your plan here?” Francesco asked.

“Plan?”

“Telling all these people we’re engaged, including our entire family! What are you trying to accomplish? This was _not_ part of the deal.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Lorenzo said. “But they ambushed us like this all thinking we were actually engaged, so I panicked and went along with it.”

“Hmph.”

“Can you please just go with it for now? Please?”

“I obviously have to since we’re already in it this far,” Francesco said. “But the wedding’s not for _weeks_ and I’m sure your family will want to spend an absurd amount of time with us in the meantime, I can’t pretend to be in love with you for that long.”

“It won’t be that bad, just act like you always act around me,” Lorenzo said. “They know you’re not into PDA, it’s not like they’re going to expect you to make out with me in front of them. Besides, all of them apparently thought that the way we act as friends meant that we were in love, so…”

“Hmph,” Francesco said again. Lorenzo could’ve sworn he was blushing. “Fine. But you’ll owe me twice as many favors.”

“Okay.”

“And how are we going to put an end to it? If we say we broke off our engagement, no matter how amicably we claim it happened, our family’s going to be all weird about it and we’ll never be able to have a nice Christmas or anything again because they’ll think we broke each other’s hearts.”

Lorenzo bit his lip; he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I _am_ worried,” Francesco said, scowling at him. Lorenzo suddenly became conscious of how close together they were standing in the doorway, nearly touching. “You’re fucking up _my_ whole life just because _you_ have a fragile ego.”

“I do not, and that’s not what this is about.”

“No? Why else are you so desperate to pretend that somebody loves you?”

“Plenty of people love me! If anything, I’m doing _you_ a favor by pretending someone loves _you,”_ Lorenzo shot back, then immediately felt guilty as his brain caught up with his mouth.

But Francesco didn’t look hurt, just even more angry. “Oh, excuse me, I forgot, you’re Lorenzo de’ Medici, the most perfect human being to ever walk the earth, the one a million people would kill to be with, and I should be grateful that you’ve chosen me to bestow the great honor of your attention upon.”

“I’m sorry, Francesco, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“How did you mean it, then? What other possible interpretation of ‘no one loves you, be grateful I’m pretending to’ is there?”

“I’m not pretending anything.” Lorenzo leaned forward to put his face even closer to Francesco’s, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “I do love you, Francesco, you’re my best friend. You’re my favorite person in the world.”

This close, he could visibly see the fight leave Francesco’s eyes, fading away and being replaced by uncertainty and a hint of that softness Bianca had talked about. Lorenzo gave him a small smile, and Francesco didn’t smile back, but his eyes grew a little warmer. Lorenzo could get lost in those eyes, the beautiful deep brown fascinating him and sucking him in, the only window to the heart Francesco kept so many walls around, the only visible indication of how deeply he felt.

“Is the bathroom free or are you two about to fuck in it?”

Lorenzo and Francesco both jumped and turned to see Giuliano standing in front of them. Lorenzo was still slightly dazed, but Francesco recovered quickly. _“God,_ no,” he said, scrunching his face up in distaste, and he stepped away from Lorenzo and strode back towards the dining room, making sure to bump into Giuliano as he went.

Giuliano scowled and rubbed his shoulder. “A real charmer you’ve got there.”

Lorenzo sighed in agreement and followed Francesco.

The rest of the evening passed relatively free of incident. Francesco became a little more sociable and agreeable (well, to everyone except Giuliano), so Lorenzo supposed something he’d said must have gotten through to him.

“I _am_ really sorry I’ve roped you into this,” Lorenzo said as they finally left the house together after a dozen attempts to escape Lucrezia’s excited discussion of wedding plans. “But I appreciate that you’re playing along to help me out. Truly. Thank you.”

Francesco just shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, I don’t mind,” he said with an unusual gentleness. But before Lorenzo could fully process it, that familiar smirk was back in place. “So, circling back to that poem you wrote about me when we were teenagers—”

Lorenzo shoved him into Lucrezia’s prized rosebush.


	2. Chapter 2

Francesco should never in a million years have agreed to this scheme. But he had an unfortunate personality trait wherein upon realizing he’d dug himself into a hole, he would stubbornly choose to keep digging rather than asking to be pulled out of said hole. And now he was stuck in a _really_ deep hole. (He hated how easily he could hear Giuliano snickering _that’s what she said_ in his head.)

He realized exactly how deep it was when Novella called him a few days after the disastrous family dinner. “So apparently congratulations are in order,” she said before he even had a chance to say hello. “I can’t believe you never even told me you were dating Lorenzo, you asshole, and okay, I guess it was payback for all the times I made fun of you for having a thing for him, but still—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Francesco cut her off. “Where the hell did _you_ hear about me and Lorenzo?”

Novella proceeded to rattle off an alarmingly long train of gossip that ended with Lucrezia Donati, as most trains of Florentine gossip did. “And I have to say, I’m offended I heard about my best friend’s engagement from a source so directly removed from the original,” she said. _“Can_ I be your best friend now that Lorenzo’s your fiancé instead of your best friend?”

“You’ve always been my best friend because I’m allowed to have two best friends, and Lorenzo is still only my best friend because the engagement isn’t real!”

“What?”

Francesco told her the whole story. “And now I’m in too deep and have no choice but to see it through to the end,” he concluded.

“Okay. There is a _lot_ to unpack here,” Novella said. “Starting with, thank God my best friend didn’t get engaged without telling me. And followed by, why the _hell_ did you agree to it in the first place?”

“I told you, Lorenzo begged me to and I couldn’t say no! Have you ever said no to Lorenzo?”

“Many times and easily. You’re just embarrassingly whipped for him.”

“Am _not.”_

“Are so.”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

This continued for a few more rounds before Novella said, “Listen, there is no heterosexual explanation for you agreeing to pretend to be Lorenzo’s fiancé! I mean, I know you’re bi, so technically there’s no heterosexual explanation for any of your actions. But you see my point.”

“Is your point that you’re being _stupid?_ Because if so, then I do see it,” Francesco said childishly.

“My point is that you’ve been subconsciously in love with Lorenzo for years and that’s why you agreed to pretend to be his fiancé!”

For a moment Francesco could only splutter in astonishment at the utter absurdity of such an idea. “That’s literally the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, and I spend an unfortunately large amount of time with Giuliano de’ Medici,” he said.

“Oh, come on, Francesco, have you never seen a romcom? Of course you haven’t, I forgot who I was talking to,” Novella said as Francesco snorted loudly. “Well, I guess that explains how you got yourself into this mess, because if you’d ever seen a romcom, you’d know that pretending to be someone’s fake partner for convoluted reasons _always_ results in you falling in love with them for real, and more often than not it only happened in the first place because you already had feelings for them subconsciously.”

“I’m not a romcom protagonist, I’m a sensible adult! And I don’t have feelings for Lorenzo and never will!”

“Yeah, participating in elaborate schemes that involve pretending to be in love with your friend whom you definitely don’t have feelings for and lying to every single person you know about it is one hundred percent something that sensible adults do,” Novella said. Francesco could practically _hear_ the smirk in her voice.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I do actually have to go—”

“Thank God.”

“—but keep me updated, I want to know _exactly_ how this all pans out.”

“I will, but only because I need a sane person to vent to about how exhausting it is pretending to be in love with Lorenzo,” Francesco grumbled.

“Exhausting. Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s how it feels for you.”

_“Goodbye.”_

* * *

As Francesco had predicted, they were obligated to spend quite a bit of time with their immediate family in the weeks before Clarice and Lucrezia’s wedding. And the more Lorenzo saw how excited everyone was about their alleged engagement (Giuliano’s constant stream of snarky comments at Francesco’s expense notwithstanding), the worse he felt about lying and the more stressed about how they’d break it off when the time came.

Lorenzo should’ve picked a fake fiancé who didn’t share a family with him. Then again, he hadn’t expected their family to get involved in the lie, so it wasn’t _really_ his fault for not thinking this far ahead. But now he was realizing how right Francesco was to say that their “breakup” would put the entire family in an awkward situation. Bianca and Guglielmo especially, what if they each felt obligated to take their own brother’s side in the breakup and it ended up affecting _their_ marriage?

Not to mention, how could Lorenzo and Francesco go back to their normal status quo as best friends and roommates when everyone they knew would think they were ex-fiancés? It would seem incredibly bizarre for them to break off their engagement and then continue living together and being friends as if nothing had ever happened. But it wasn’t like they could say, _just kidding, the whole thing was a sham, we’ve never been in love at all,_ because that would defeat the entire purpose of the scheme. On the other hand, Lorenzo wasn’t about to change his whole living situation just because of this stupid lie. But back to the first hand, maybe it _was_ about time he and Francesco lived in their own individual apartments.

It was a sticky situation, that was for sure, Lorenzo thought glumly as he sat at the dinner table vaguely listening to his mother interrogate a stressed-looking Francesco about whether he wanted an indoor or outdoor wedding venue. “I’m fine with whatever Lorenzo prefers,” he said evasively.

Lucrezia turned to him. “Lorenzo?”

“Mom, we’ve told you, we don’t want to start wedding planning yet,” Lorenzo said. “We _just_ got engaged, we’re not in a hurry for the wedding.”

“I know, but it doesn’t hurt to at least get some _ideas_ going.”

“Besides, maybe we won’t even want a big wedding like you’re thinking,” Lorenzo said just to stress her out. “Maybe we’ll decide we want a city hall wedding and no fuss.”

Lucrezia was clearly struggling not to look devastated. “I suppose if that’s what you want…”

“Come on, Lorenzo, this is her last chance to throw a big wedding since you know Giuliano’s never getting married,” Bianca said.

“Who’s to say Lorenzo won’t end up having a second wedding? I’d like to see the person strong enough to spend a whole lifetime married to Francesco,” Giuliano said.

Francesco scowled at him. “Last I checked, I’ve received more marriage proposals than _you.”_

“You’ve received _one,_ and besides, I’m glad I haven’t because marriage is just an antiquated societal institution designed to trap you into—”

“Let’s table any wedding planning for a while,” Lorenzo interrupted, trying to steer the conversation back on track before a proper argument could break out. “Like I said, it’s way too soon, Francesco and I have barely even thought about what kind of wedding we want.”

“Oh, all right, if you insist,” Lucrezia said, as if she wasn’t still mentally drawing up seating arrangements as she spoke.

“Moving on to other topics, we were wondering if you two could watch Giovanna next weekend, Friday night to Saturday morning,” Bianca said to Lorenzo and Francesco. “We’re planning a date night, a nice dinner and then staying at a hotel so we can get an actual full night of uninterrupted sleep for once.”

Lorenzo threw a nervous glance at his six-month-old niece sitting in her highchair and happily grabbing fistfuls of pureed carrot and smushing them into her face. He loved her very much, but he’d never watched her or any other baby on his own before. “Don’t you have a regular babysitter?” he stalled.

“Yes, but she’s not available that weekend,” Guglielmo said. “We can plan it for a weekend when she’s around if you guys are busy.”

“But we thought it might be good practice for you,” Bianca said with a sly look that made Francesco choke on his wine. “I mean, if you’re thinking about kids at all.”

“I don’t know if—” Francesco started to say.

“Oh yes, we agreed on three,” Lorenzo said without hesitation. He was beginning to wonder if he was a pathological liar. “Didn’t we, Francesco?”

“Mm…hmm,” Francesco said through gritted teeth.

Bianca beamed and clapped her hands together. “Then this is the perfect opportunity for all of us!”

That was how Lorenzo found himself spending his Friday night getting spit up on while Francesco watched from a safe distance, looking gleeful about Lorenzo’s misfortune. “How old do babies have to be before they stop spitting up anyway?” Lorenzo said. “I thought that was just a thing really small babies did.”

“Fucked if I know, and doesn’t six months still qualify as a really small baby?”

“No swearing in front of her!”

“She doesn’t know what I’m saying, do you, you little monster?” Francesco said, and Giovanna giggled at him.

“Hold her, I have to change my shirt,” Lorenzo said, and he held Giovanna out to Francesco, who obligingly came over to take her. “Do you think Guglielmo would mind if I borrowed one of his?”

“I’m sure he’d understand. W-what are you doing?” Francesco suddenly started spluttering.

For Lorenzo had whipped the spit-up-upon shirt off over his head. “What?” he said.

“Can’t you at least wait until you’re in a different room to start stripping?” Francesco was turning red and looking anywhere but at Lorenzo.

“I’m just taking my shirt off,” Lorenzo said, bemused by his reaction.

“Well, don’t do it in front of me!”

“Since when do you care? I walk around the apartment shirtless all the time, and we’ve been to the beach together multiple times.”

“Yes, but—but—”

Lorenzo didn’t know why he was acting this way, but he _did_ know that it was highly amusing, so he took a few steps forward until he was standing so close to Francesco that Francesco had no choice but to look at him, though he did opt for staring determinedly at his face and not any lower. “You better hope there’s no situation in the next couple weeks where I’m shirtless in front of you and also other people—”

“Why on _earth_ would that be a situation that would happen in November?”

“—because for my fiancé, you sure are acting like you’ve never seen me naked,” Lorenzo finished, grinning.

Francesco’s eyes flicked down to Lorenzo’s torso and then back up just as quickly, but Lorenzo didn’t miss it. Nor did he miss the way his face went even redder. Lorenzo’s grin widened. “Well, maybe we’re waiting until marriage,” Francesco said in a would-be sarcastic tone, though Lorenzo could tell he was still flustered.

“We aren’t, we did it after the first date,” Lorenzo informed him. “Giuliano asked.”

Francesco snorted. “I don’t suppose he also wanted to know who tops?”

“He did, actually, and it’s me.”

“Oh, _Christ.”_

Lorenzo just laughed and decided to take pity on him. “All right, I’m going to change now. Try not to get Giovanna killed while I’m gone.”

“As if _I’m_ the less responsible of the two of us,” Francesco said.

“I didn’t say you weren’t responsible, just…ah…not the most natural at interacting with children.”

“Then why do you want to have three of them with me?” Francesco shot back.

“Because I love you and I know you have it in you to be a wonderful father with a little more practice,” Lorenzo called over his shoulder as he headed towards Bianca and Guglielmo’s room.

He found an old T-shirt at the bottom of the bureau that he figured wouldn’t be missed until he had a chance to wash it and give it back. Just after he’d put it on, he got held up by Sandro calling in a tizzy about whether he was getting ripped off by a client (math was something Sandro had difficulty with, as well as the concept of money in general). Lorenzo went into the kitchen to grab a pen and paper and he took dutiful notes, then calculated that Sandro was indeed getting ripped off and advised him what to do about it. And _then_ he promised to sit down with him sometime to work out a better system for how he charged for commissions, and then finally he hung up and went back out into the living room.

Francesco was lying lengthwise on the couch with Giovanna lying on her tummy on top of his chest, and Lorenzo realized in delight that they were playing peekaboo. “Where’s Uncle Cecco?” Francesco cooed, covering his eyes. “Where’d he go?” He quickly removed his hands. “There he is!”

Giovanna thought this was hysterical, and Francesco was smiling too, one of those wide, toothy smiles that Lorenzo saw so rarely from him. He started tickling her until they were both laughing. Lorenzo could hardly remember the last time he’d heard Francesco laugh like this, a full-out joyful laugh rather than a quiet chuckle or sarcastic snicker.

Lorenzo felt like his heart was exploding into a million butterflies. He knew very well that Francesco had a soft side most people never got to see, of course, but this was more of it than even _Lorenzo_ ever got to see, and he couldn’t stop watching. He smiled sheepishly to himself as he realized he’d been completely wrong to say that Francesco wasn’t a natural with children, because apparently he was great with them. As long as no other adults were around to see him behaving in such an undignified way.

Lorenzo stepped further into the room and cleared his throat, and Francesco quickly turned to look at him. “Oh, Lorenzo,” he said, hastily sitting up and looking embarrassed. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Lorenzo said. “How come I’ve never once heard you use that baby voice with our niece before?”

Francesco blushed. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

“That you have a heart? Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lorenzo promised with a grin, and he came to sit beside him on the couch. “Seriously, though, that was adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it. I like seeing you act like that.”

“Like what, an idiot?”

“Like someone who has so much love to give, if only he realized that people wanted it.”

Now Lorenzo was the one blushing as Francesco turned to give him a curious look. “Oh,” Francesco said after an awkward pause.

Lorenzo cleared his throat and took Giovanna back from him. “I think it’s someone’s bedtime,” he told her.

“Yeah, since you took ten million years to put a new shirt on,” Francesco said.

“It’s not my fault, Sandro called needing money help. A lot of it.”

“How is he a functioning adult? Like, how has he not either gone bankrupt or been arrested for tax fraud by now?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“I guess if they arrested him for tax fraud, they’d let him go pretty quick because they’d realize he didn’t do it on purpose, he just genuinely is that stupid,” Francesco mused as they went into Giovanna’s room.

Lorenzo snickered, then quickly tried to frown. “That’s mean, Francesco.”

“Then why are you laughing?” Francesco said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into that little half-smile of his that Lorenzo loved so much.

Wait, what?

Lorenzo tried to focus on the words Francesco was saying and not on the strange realization that he wanted to plop himself down in front of him and stare at that smile for the entire rest of his life. “Sometimes I just like to laugh at your jokes to make you feel validated even if they’re not actually funny,” he said.

Francesco’s smile turned into a smirk. “You thought it was funny.”

Lorenzo was just glad Francesco hadn’t noticed him staring at him for slightly too long, so he conceded that point much more quickly than he normally would’ve. “Fine, maybe a little. Don’t tell Sandro.”

“As if I would ever choose to have a conversation with _Sandro.”_

“You’re honestly the meanest person in the world and I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

“Because all your other friends are annoyingly nice and you need me to balance it out.”

They put Giovanna to bed and went out to watch TV and kill time until their own bedtime. Though just as they were about to call it a night, they heard Giovanna crying through the baby monitor. “Should we go get her, or are they doing that sleep training thing where you have to let her cry it out and go back to sleep on her own?” Francesco asked.

Lorenzo consulted the instructions Bianca and Guglielmo had left them. “It doesn’t say anything here.”

“Should we text them?”

“And interrupt their date night? They’re probably doing it right now.”

“Ew.”

“What else do you think that hotel room’s for?”

“Please stop talking,” Francesco said with a shudder. “I’ll just go make her stop crying, I’m not in the mood to get a migraine right now.”

Lorenzo let him go and went to get ready for bed. Bianca and Guglielmo had made the guest bedroom up for him and Francesco to crash in tonight, although he wasn’t sure if Francesco would agree to share the bed with him. Good thing Lorenzo had gotten here first.

On his way back from the bathroom down the hall, he passed by the door to Giovanna’s room, which was slightly ajar, and realized that he heard what sounded an awful lot like singing. More specifically, _Francesco_ singing.

Smiling, Lorenzo peeked into the room and saw that indeed, Francesco was gently bouncing Giovanna up and down in his arms and quietly singing her a lullaby, too quietly for Lorenzo to really make out the words, though he _could_ hear that Francesco actually had quite a nice singing voice. He supposed it was only logical; after all, he had a beautiful talking voice. Lorenzo could listen to him talk all day.

…He could?

Puzzling over that thought, Lorenzo silently stepped back and continued on his way without alerting Francesco to his presence, figuring he’d embarrassed him enough already tonight. He climbed into bed, and just as he’d gotten all snuggled under the covers, he heard Francesco complaining, “Who says _you_ get the bed?”

Lorenzo opened his eyes and rolled over to see Francesco standing in the doorway frowning. “I was here first,” he said.

“Because _I_ was taking care of Giovanna, like the responsible uncle I am. I deserve the bed.”

“I’m the one who got spit up on, _and_ changed her diaper because you refused.”

“Well, I fed her.”

“All you did was give her a bottle, it’s not hard.”

“And the mushed carrots, which she threw at my face! And then laughed! And then _you_ laughed, which just encouraged her!”

“That’s because it was hilarious,” Lorenzo said. “And fine, you can sleep in the bed if you want, but I’m _not_ getting up, so you’re either sharing with me or sleeping on the couch. Your choice.”

He rolled back over and closed his eyes again as Francesco huffed indignantly. Lorenzo heard him puttering around getting ready for bed, and a few minutes later, he was surprised to feel the other side of the bed sink down as Francesco got in. He’d really thought Francesco would rather sleep on the couch than here with him, but Lorenzo wasn’t complaining. It felt kind of nice, Francesco’s warm, solid presence a few inches away from him.

It did?

Lorenzo tossed and turned for a while, his mind too crowded with thoughts for him to fall asleep, as usual. But these particular thoughts were much different than his typical nighttime musings. Namely, _what_ was going on with him vis-à-vis Francesco tonight? Why was he suddenly hyperaware of things like his smile and the sound of his voice, things he’d always taken completely for granted? Why had seeing him playing with their niece made his heart explode into a million butterflies? And now that he thought about it, Lorenzo thought that he might’ve enjoyed teasing him during the shirtless incident a little _too_ much.

It was just the stupid fake engagement, Lorenzo decided. That was getting in his head and messing all his thoughts up, because there was no way any of this would be happening otherwise. Therefore, it would all pass once the scheme was over and their lives went back to normal.

Feeling soothed, Lorenzo rolled over again to get into a more comfortable sleeping position. Now he was facing Francesco, who was also facing him and was already fast asleep. Lorenzo felt himself smiling as he watched him. They were the same age, but Francesco had always looked older than him somehow, more world-weary, perhaps. But sleep made him look younger, the perpetual frown smoothed out of his face, his expression peaceful and almost happy, his hair mussed up and free of its usual gel.

There was a stray curl falling into Francesco’s eyes, and without thinking about it, Lorenzo reached out and gently tucked it behind his ear. He let his hand linger for a moment on his cheek before it fell back to his side.

Huh. That was weird.

But before Lorenzo could think much about it, Francesco shifted and murmured something, and Lorenzo froze, afraid he’d woken him up. After a second it became clear that Francesco was still asleep, thank God, except Lorenzo’s relief was short-lived, because Francesco promptly rolled right into his arms, snuggling into his side and looking utterly content.

Oh no. Lorenzo stared down at him in a panic. What should he do? He couldn’t move him off, that might wake him and then he’d see that he’d started cuddling Lorenzo in his sleep and then they’d _both_ be embarrassed. Besides, it was…weirdly comfortable having Francesco clinging to him like this?

Lorenzo decided that the best course of action would be to just do nothing and pretend he’d been asleep the whole time if Francesco ever somehow became aware of this incident. So he closed his eyes and let Francesco’s warmth wash over him, and a few minutes later he was asleep too.

* * *

Francesco woke with a start, his heart pounding. He let out a shaky breath and sat up in bed, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them so he could put his head in his hands. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to shake the unsettled and faintly terrified feeling that was lingering even as the nightmare itself slipped from his memory.

“Francesco?”

Francesco jumped slightly and lifted his head, turning to see Lorenzo sitting up beside him. Right, they _had_ fallen asleep in the same bed, Francesco had been so disoriented when he woke up that he hadn’t really remembered that.

“Are you okay?” Lorenzo asked.

“Fine,” Francesco said, looking away from him. “It was just a dream.”

“What about?”

“I don’t remember exactly, it’s already gone…” Francesco paused, then added, “Something to do with my uncle, I think.”

He was staring at his knees rather than at Lorenzo, but he could hear the sadness in his voice when he said, “You still dream about him? Even though he’s been gone for so many years?”

Francesco let out a bitter laugh. “How can I not? After spending half my life under his roof? Hell, I can barely even remember life with my parents anymore. Everything I am today is because of my uncle and how he raised me.”

“And what are you, exactly?”

“I don’t know, a—” Maybe it was because he was still half-asleep that Francesco found himself voicing his thoughts rather than telling Lorenzo to mind his own business. “A fucked-up disaster incapable of being loved,” he said quietly.

There was a long silence in which Francesco intensely regretted letting those words leave his mouth, but then Lorenzo said, “Francesco, is that—is that really how you see yourself?”

At last Francesco turned his head back to look at him, and he saw that his expression was heartbroken. “It’s like you said,” Francesco said with a half-shrug. “This whole fake engagement, it’s lucky for me to get to pretend for a while that there’s someone who actually wants me in their life permanently.”

Next thing he knew, he was totally enveloped in Lorenzo’s arms and being squeezed tight against his chest. “I _do_ want you in my life permanently,” Lorenzo said. “I love you so much, Francesco. I can’t imagine my life without you. Don’t you _ever_ dare think of yourself like that. Jacopo’s long gone, he has no power over you. The person you are today, it’s not because of him, it’s _despite_ him. You grew into a strong, good, loving person despite all the shit he put you through, and I’ve never told you this before but I’ve always admired you so fucking much for that. You’re the bravest person I know.”

His voice was shaking now, and Francesco felt tears leaking out of his own eyes too as he gratefully buried his face in Lorenzo’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you cry,” he whispered, and Lorenzo let out a watery laugh and hugged him tighter.

They were quiet for a long time, until Lorenzo finally let go of him and they both lay down again to go back to sleep. “Francesco?” Lorenzo asked after a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to have kids someday? Regardless of my promise that we were having three,” he added with a chuckle.

“Why do you ask?” Francesco said, startled.

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about the people who raised us and our siblings, and now we’re starting to raise our own children. And about how when I saw you with Giovanna, it made me think that you’d be a really good dad.”

“All I did was play peekaboo with her, any fool could do that.”

“And when you sang her that lullaby.”

Francesco rolled over to face him. “You heard that?”

“A little bit of it,” Lorenzo said with a slight smile. “You have a nice voice.”

“Um, thanks,” Francesco mumbled, feeling himself blushing.

“What was the song anyway? I didn’t recognize it.”

Francesco felt a stab of wistfulness as he heard a woman’s voice, almost completely lost to his memory by now, singing that lullaby, felt gentle hands smoothing down his hair, smelled flowery shampoo in the long hair tickling his face as a pair of lips brushed against his forehead. “It was…” He cleared his throat. “It was something my mother used to sing to me when I had nightmares.”

“Oh,” Lorenzo said softly. Francesco thought he might say something stupid like _you must miss her_ —people always said that, wasn’t it obvious that of course he fucking missed his parents who’d been ripped away from him way too soon?—but he said nothing, for which Francesco was grateful. He supposed that in the past few years Lorenzo had also become too familiar with all the irritating platitudes that accompany losing a parent.

After another minute of silence, Francesco finally answered the original question. “Yes, I think I’d want to have kids,” he said. “I don’t know if I _should,_ I’d probably be a shitty parent since I really have no idea what a good one is supposed to be like. But in an ideal world, I’d like to.”

“Are you kidding? You’d be an amazing dad,” Lorenzo said, smiling at him. “You’d dote on your kids but also destroy anyone who upset them.”

_“Destroy_ seems a little dramatic.”

“I don’t know, I can totally see you going full mama bear on someone’s ass.”

Francesco couldn’t help but laugh, and Lorenzo was laughing too. “Goodnight, Lorenzo,” he said, rolling back over to the other side, though he was still smiling.

“Goodnight.”

When Francesco woke up the next morning, he discovered that Lorenzo was still asleep and had thrown an arm across him, almost protectively. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes, not wanting to get out of bed quite yet.


	3. Chapter 3

They didn’t discuss their late-night conversation afterwards; Francesco was embarrassed he’d allowed himself to be that vulnerable, like some kind of loser, and Lorenzo was kind enough to follow his lead in acting like it hadn’t happened.

And yet despite his embarrassment, Francesco couldn’t help but feel warm all over when he remembered how when he’d bared his soul to Lorenzo, showed him the weakest, ugliest parts of himself, told him more than he’d ever told even Guglielmo before…Lorenzo hadn’t run away. Lorenzo had held him and said he would never leave him. And for someone who’d spent his whole life getting left, that felt pretty damn nice to hear.

Thus, although they didn’t talk about it, Francesco felt like their relationship had shifted somehow that night. Or maybe it wasn’t their relationship itself, maybe it was how he viewed it. Maybe the change was that the little voice in the back of Francesco’s mind that occasionally told him Lorenzo only hung out with him because he felt sorry for him and would someday drop him and go back to his real friends—for the first time in the five years since they’d renewed their friendship, that voice was now completely silent.

Francesco was almost ready to acknowledge that maybe this ridiculous fake engagement scheme hadn’t brought _only_ bad things upon him. Or at least he was until the annual Medici family Christmas party, when his life was ruined beyond repair.

The party wasn’t actually on Christmas but rather the first weekend of December—too early, if you asked Francesco (no one did), but this gave the Medici time to throw multiple other parties before the holiday season was over, although this was the biggest one. This year, the timing meant that it was exactly one week before Clarice and Lucrezia Donati’s wedding which meant it was, with any luck, the last family gathering Francesco would have to endure as Lorenzo’s fiancé.

It was always a massive event; the entire extended Medici family, Lucrezia’s friends, Lorenzo’s friends, Giuliano’s friends, Bianca’s friends, various coworkers, and usually whoever Lorenzo and Giuliano were sleeping with at the time. Francesco supposed he was included along with Simonetta Cattaneo in that last category this year, which was horrifying.

Francesco spent the first half of the party being dragged around by Lorenzo and forced to make small talk with all his stupid friends and all his stupid coworkers. Thank God Francesco wasn’t actually marrying him, he couldn’t stand these people. Then Lorenzo released him from his clutches and went to socialize on his own, except there wasn’t really anyone else here Francesco could talk to (Bianca and Guglielmo were also engaged in conversation elsewhere) and he realized maybe he _would’ve_ been better off being Lorenzo’s arm candy all evening.

He ended up chatting with Carlo, one of the least annoying Medici, in Francesco’s opinion, if one ignored his being an infuriatingly good person. And also the fact that being religious was his entire personality, as far as Francesco could see, whereas Francesco personally had no time for religion. But Carlo lived in Rome, and Francesco had lived in Rome for several years, so they had enough in common to keep a conversation going for a few minutes, at least.

It was just fizzling out when Francesco spotted Novella in the crowd, and he nearly cried in relief. She was friendly with Lorenzo, but Francesco was pretty sure Lorenzo invited her every year specifically so Francesco would have someone to keep him company.

He excused himself to Carlo and went over to where Novella was—right by the drinks table, which was also Francesco’s favorite spot in the room. “You took your time getting here,” he said, picking up yet another glass of wine and finishing most of it in one gulp.

“My train was delayed,” she replied. “I’m sure it hasn’t been that bad without me, has it?”

“I had to listen to about seven hundred different people inform me how excited I must be to be marrying Lorenzo, so yes, it has been that bad.”

“Aww, but _aren’t_ you excited to be marrying your _true looove?”_

“Never mind, it was better before you got here.”

Novella laughed. “Seriously, how’s the ‘engagement’ going?”

“Fine,” Francesco said with a shrug.

“Oh my God,” Novella said. “You’re enjoying it.”

“What?! How did you get that from ‘fine’?”

“Because I’ve known you since we were nineteen and ‘fine’ is one of the highest compliments you give out,” she said. “Not to mention that every other time we’ve talked since it started, you haven’t been able to shut up about how awful it is and how much you hate everything and Lorenzo most of all.”

“Well, maybe I’ve just decided to be more mature about it,” Francesco said.

“You? Be mature about something? Is the world ending?”

“Hilarious.”

A minute later, Lorenzo appeared out of nowhere. He and Novella exchanged greetings, and then Novella said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, “Francesco and I were just discussing your engagement.”

“She knows it’s fake,” Francesco told Lorenzo under his breath before he had to listen to any more gushing about how wonderful he was and how lucky Lorenzo felt to be with him.

“Oh, thank God,” Lorenzo muttered back.

“Francesco’s been keeping me updated, but I haven’t heard _your_ side of the story,” Novella said. “How’s he treating you? Is he a good fiancé?”

Lorenzo threw his arm around Francesco’s shoulders and gave him an exaggeratedly loud kiss on the cheek. “I can’t complain,” he said.

 _“I_ can,” Francesco said, wriggling out of his grasp. “Weirdo.”

“You guys are acting like an old married couple already, I love it.”

They moved a few feet to one side when Sandro complained that they were blocking the drinks table, and no sooner had they done so than Giuliano was appearing out of nowhere (seriously, was that a genetic trait in this family?) and yelling, “Stop!”

Francesco jumped so hard he nearly spilled his newly-refilled wine. “What, Giuliano?” Lorenzo said exasperatedly.

Giuliano grinned and pointed at something over their heads. “Finally, I’ve been waiting to catch people under it all night! Although two people who are engaged and kiss all the time anyway is a pretty disappointing combination, I have to say.”

Overcome with dread, Francesco slowly looked up, and sure enough, there was a clump of mistletoe hanging directly above him and Lorenzo. He hated his whole entire life, he really, truly did. What deity had he offended in a past life to deserve this eternal torture?

“Seriously?” he said to Giuliano. “Who puts mistletoe up on December second?”

“I do, because no one’s expecting it, and clearly you weren’t!” Giuliano said triumphantly. “Sandro, come look, do you think Novella’s close enough?”

Sandro joined him in studying the situation. “No, she’s a little too far to the right, I think it’s just Lorenzo and Francesco,” he said. Francesco hated Sandro, he _hated_ him, him and his stupid paintings that weren’t even _good._

“I agree,” Giuliano said, nodding. “Nevertheless I will generously allow Novella to opt in if she wants to cause drama by making out with one of them in front of his fiancé, which I would one hundred percent support because this party _is_ getting a little boring.”

“Tempting, but I think I’ll leave these two to it,” Novella said, giving Francesco a smug smile. Why? Why was this happening to him?

“This is stupid,” he said. “I’m not doing it.”

“One little kiss with your fiancé?” Giuliano scoffed. “This is literally the best person you could’ve gotten caught under the mistletoe with, wimp.”

No, it was literally the worst person. “I don’t want to kiss Lorenzo in front of all these people, _especially_ not with _you_ standing right there,” Francesco said. “Your face is a huge turn-off.”

“Sounds like your wedding’s going to be tough for you,” said Giuliano, who looked like he was enjoying this almost as much as Novella. “Are you just going to shake hands when they declare you married?”

“Leave him alone, Giuliano, he just doesn’t like PDA,” Lorenzo said. “But I’m sure he won’t mind _one_ kiss, will you, Francesco?”

Francesco turned to glare at him and saw that he was wearing a just-go-with-it-because-we-are- _one_ -step-away-from-making-a-scene expression. They silently battled it out for a moment before Francesco cracked and said, “Fine, if you’re all going to be so fucking dramatic about it.”

“You’re the only one being dramatic,” Giuliano informed him.

Francesco opened his mouth to retort, but suddenly Lorenzo was kissing him. And Francesco really shouldn’t have had his mouth open, because Lorenzo’s tongue went right in. Was he always this much of a hoe during a first kiss with someone? This was something Francesco actually didn’t wonder until a little later, because at the moment, he was struggling very hard not to pass out. By some miracle he managed not to drop his wineglass, and his other hand shot out to grab Lorenzo’s shoulder purely to keep himself from collapsing from shock. Though Lorenzo took this as encouragement to wrap his arms around Francesco’s waist and pull him closer.

Objectively Francesco knew that this sucked and he hated it, but his body seemed to have other ideas, because he found himself closing his eyes and kissing Lorenzo back. And it was only because Lorenzo was a _very_ experienced kisser, due to his being a hoe and all, but Francesco was pretty sure this might be the best kiss of his life.

With the result that when Lorenzo finally pulled back, Francesco’s second thought was, _Thank God, it’s over._ And this was only his second because the first was, _No, come back._

For a moment, all Francesco could do was stare at Lorenzo. Lorenzo stared back at him, and was he... _blushing?_ Lorenzo never got embarrassed about anything. Francesco couldn’t say with confidence that Lorenzo was even _capable_ of feeling embarrassment.

But however embarrassed Lorenzo looked, Francesco was sure it was nothing to how _he_ looked; he could practically _feel_ his face heat up several more degrees as he belatedly registered the sound of people around them whistling and laughing. Right, Lorenzo wasn’t the only person in the entire world who existed, there were other people here.

Francesco blinked several times to shake off his daze and turned to look around him. Sandro was applauding them and Giuliano was miming vomiting, which was awfully rich of him since he was the one who’d bullied them into kissing in the first place. Novella, meanwhile, was grinning at Francesco, but in a distinctly evil way, he thought grumpily.

“There, Giuliano, happy?” Lorenzo said.

“No, that was _disgusting.”_

“Good, maybe it’ll teach you a lesson,” Lorenzo said, rolling his eyes, which made the onlookers all chuckle some more before mercifully turning back to their own conversations.

Francesco could _not_ talk to either Lorenzo or Novella right now, so he slipped into the crowd and went back over to Carlo and practically begged him to continue what he’d been saying earlier about the intricacies of a particular Bible verse. Carlo looked surprised but gratified and he obliged in talking Francesco’s ear off until Lorenzo came to find him half an hour later to head home.

“That was a very insightful discussion, Francesco, thank you,” Carlo said. “I didn’t realize you had such an interest in theology.”

There were very few topics Francesco was less interested in, but he politely agreed and let Lorenzo tug him away.

They spent the trip home in an intensely awkward silence. Francesco had every intention of never exchanging a word with Lorenzo again, or at least not until the engagement scheme was over, but Lorenzo had other ideas.

“Hey, about the whole mistletoe thing, I’m sorry if that was weird,” he said after they’d shut the apartment door behind them.

If? _If?_ How the fuck had they gotten to the point where making out at a family gathering while everyone they knew cheered and whistled at them was only _potentially_ weird and not _definitely_ weird? Francesco hated his life, he really did.

But all he said was, “Nah, it’s fine.”

Lorenzo looked relieved. “Good.” Then he grinned. “I mean, obviously you couldn’t have hated it, since I _am_ a pretty great kisser.”

Francesco scoffed. “You’re full of yourself.”

“They aren’t _my_ words, they’re the words of multiple people I’ve kissed.”

“Multiple of the _thousands_ of people you’ve kissed, you hoe.”

“Oh, come on,” Lorenzo said. “You can’t tell me you didn’t think it was a good kiss.”

It was a hell of a lot better than good, but Francesco would die before admitting that. “Oh, you know,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve had plenty of much better ones. But I guess it was okay.”

Lorenzo gasped. “Okay?! Just okay?!”

“Just okay.”

“You’re lying!”

“Nope.” Francesco smirked at him. “Maybe you’re just not as great a kisser as you think.”

Lorenzo put a hand over his heart as if he’d been gravely wounded. “You’re completely wrong,” he said. “And you’re not leaving this room until you realize exactly how wrong you are. Get over here.”

“Are you seriously going to kiss me again just to win an argument?” Francesco said, trying to sound exasperated rather than flustered.

“I’m going to kiss you until you admit I’m a good kisser, even if it takes a million kisses.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. I will _not_ have my kissing skills slandered like this!”

“You know what? Fine. Fine,” Francesco said, coming over to stand right in front of him. “Try your best, but I can guarantee you I’m not going to be impressed.”

Lorenzo stepped even closer to him so that they were almost touching, and he slowly, slowly leaned in until he was half a centimeter away from Francesco’s face. He dropped his eyes to Francesco’s mouth, his own curving up into a half-smirk, and Francesco hated how dry his throat was all of a sudden.

“We’ll see about that,” Lorenzo said, his breath tickling Francesco’s lips, and then he pulled back slightly and just looked at him, still smirking.

“Well?” Francesco said, praying he wasn’t blushing. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

“Oh, I will. But the secret to a good kiss…” Lorenzo rested his hands on his waist, then moved one up to lightly graze his thumb across Francesco’s lips. “The secret to a good kiss is making the other person really _want_ it.”

He left that hand on Francesco’s cheek and started stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Francesco was definitely blushing now, God help him. “Making them crave it,” Lorenzo said in an even lower voice that sent a shiver down Francesco’s spine.

Lorenzo leaned in and Francesco thought he was finally going to kiss him, even closed his eyes in preparation, but then he opened them again as he felt that Lorenzo was just resting his forehead against his, their noses touching, and still not kissing him. He snaked his arm further around Francesco’s waist and pulled him closer so that their bodies were pressed together, and Francesco just _knew_ Lorenzo could feel his heart pounding.

“Making them feel like they’ll die without it,” Lorenzo murmured.

“The only thing I’m about to die of is old age,” Francesco said in an embarrassingly strangled voice. Frankly, he was impressed he’d managed to come up with a clever reply at all, even if the delivery was less than ideal. “Hurry up, would you?”

Lorenzo chuckled. “All part of the process.”

“Well, clearly the kiss itself isn’t very good if you have to spend so long building up to it.”

“On the contrary, the anticipation makes a good kiss an even better one.”

“But this isn’t about you being a good anticipation-builder, it’s about—”

Francesco cut off with a squeak as Lorenzo’s mouth crashed into his. Lorenzo held nothing back, kissing Francesco with an intensity that again made his knees weak. Maybe Novella was right and he _was_ a romcom protagonist, as that was twice now he’d gone weak at the knees tonight when he previously hadn’t even thought that was a real thing that happened to people.

Lorenzo’s lips were firm and insistent and so warm, and Francesco couldn’t help the soft little moan that escaped him as Lorenzo’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip. Francesco obediently parted his lips and let Lorenzo deepen the kiss, wrapping his arms around Lorenzo’s neck and allowing himself to get swept away in the moment.

And somewhere in the midst of all of this, Francesco had a thought. A single, earth-shattering, life-ruining thought.

_I never want to kiss anyone else._

When Lorenzo finally relinquished him, Francesco felt genuinely short of breath and dizzy, though that was probably more due to the earth-shattering life-ruining thought than any physical lack of air. Francesco was breathing hard as he looked deep into Lorenzo’s blue, blue eyes, suddenly seeing him in a different light than ever before.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh _no._

“So?” Lorenzo said, and Francesco’s only comfort in his distress was that Lorenzo also sounded a little unsteady. “Was that a good kiss?”

Francesco would have liked to fire off some snappy ego-crushing retort, but the only thing he could manage to stammer out was, “I-I have to go.” Then he made an equally graceful exit by practically running into his own room and slamming the door.

Francesco flopped onto the bed and pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammering. The earth-shattering life-ruining thought was on constant loop in his head, mocking him. How could he have been so stupid? Novella had _told_ him this fake engagement would end up giving him real feelings, and he hadn’t listened to her, like a fucking idiot, when he _knew_ that Novella was always right and should be listened to in any situation.

Because she was, of course, right again this time too. Francesco knew that now. The engagement may have been fake, but the feelings currently swelling up in his heart, the ones that had been bubbling below the surface for so long but he’d refused to acknowledge them—they were very, very real.

He was completely, one hundred percent, unironically in love with Lorenzo. And maybe always had been.

Francesco sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He honestly felt like crying. This was a _disaster._ This was the worst thing that the engagement scheme could possibly have done to him. Ruining one of the most important relationships in his life, because Lorenzo would be horrified if he knew Francesco was actually in love with him, but how could Francesco just go back to acting like his completely platonic friend after this? What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He didn’t know, but he did know this much: he was now permanently, irreversibly deep in this hole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your reference, here's Matteo Martari in a suit and glasses, a look which I still have not recovered from, like imagine this + Francesco's longer hair?? lethal https://markantonys.tumblr.com/post/183571372641/x

Francesco had been acting weird ever since the Christmas party, and Lorenzo didn’t know why. Okay, he knew exactly why, except that when he’d apologized for kissing him (twice) Francesco had said it was no big deal, and when Lorenzo had asked if he was mad, he’d said of course he wasn’t, what would he have to be mad about?

But he _seemed_ mad. He barely said two words at a time to Lorenzo in the week leading up to the wedding; trying to have a conversation with him was like pulling teeth. It felt just like when Lorenzo had first cornered him at Bianca and Guglielmo’s wedding reception and forced him to talk to him when Francesco clearly wished he could be anywhere else; this was the first time since that day that things had been this strained and awkward between them.

Lorenzo was stressed out and sorely regretting kissing him (twice). The mistletoe one on its own wouldn’t have been so bad, because they were peer pressured into it and really had no choice. But the second kiss, Lorenzo truly didn’t know what he’d been thinking with that one. Had he really been _that_ hurt by someone thinking he was only an okay kisser?

Maybe he’d been that hurt by _Francesco_ thinking he was only an okay kisser. But every time this thought occurred, Lorenzo dismissed it as ridiculous. Why should he care what Francesco thought of his kissing skills?

All things considered, Lorenzo was very anxious as he got ready the morning of the wedding. But not because Francesco’s recent distant behavior was going to ruin the scheme (which it was). Lorenzo frankly couldn’t care less about the stupid scheme anymore, he just wanted Francesco to stop being mad at him. If he was mad, which he claimed he wasn’t.

Lorenzo went over to the front door to wait for Francesco to finish doing his hair, a process which always took an absurdly long time. Though Lorenzo had to admit the end result was always flawless; sometimes he daydreamed about running his fingers through Francesco’s hair, which he was pretty sure was a weird thing to daydream about, but it wasn’t _his_ fault that Francesco had such nice hair. The urge to touch it was perfectly natural, Lorenzo was sure he was far from the only one who felt this way.

The bathroom door opened at last and Francesco came out with freshly-gelled hair, a crisp suit, and…glasses? Somewhere in his mind Lorenzo must have known he wore glasses…after all, they lived together…Lorenzo must surely have seen him wearing glasses around the apartment when he didn’t feel like putting his contacts in. He _had_ seen that a million times before, he knew he had. But he was suddenly doubting everything because when Francesco walked into the room wearing glasses and a suit, Lorenzo’s entire brain went something like _?????!!!!!!_ as if this was a thing he had never seen before in his life.

Francesco looked like a—like a sexy businessman or something. Wait, he actually was a businessman, he owned an entire bank. A sexy professor, maybe. A sexy _business_ professor. Why did Lorenzo keep thinking the word _sexy_ over and over again in conjunction with Francesco?

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Francesco said grimly. “Ready to go? …Lorenzo?”

For Lorenzo was staring at him and had lost the power of the speech, which was something that never ever happened to him. “Glasses?” he managed to choke out after a second.

Francesco reached up and adjusted them, looking self-conscious. “I know, I hate wearing them outside the house, but I kind of have a headache and I figured my contacts would only make it worse.”

“No, it’s—uh—you should _not_ hate wearing those. You look like a—professor,” Lorenzo said, just managing not to let the _sexy_ descriptor out. “In a good way, I mean.”

But the intended compliment only had the effect of making Francesco look even more self-conscious. “Um, thanks, I guess?” he mumbled. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

Lorenzo obediently followed him outside and did his best to shake himself out of his daze, because he was driving and the last thing they needed was to get into a car accident. Fortunately they made it to the wedding venue, a vineyard an hour outside Florence, in good time and without incident, although the car ride was unusually silent.

And the unusual silence continued as they took their seats and waited for the ceremony to start. It wasn’t like they were the sort of friends who needed constant conversation—well, Lorenzo was, but over the past five years Francesco had taught him the value of companionable silence. Except this silence wasn’t companionable at all, it was tense and awkward and Lorenzo hated it, he hated that he’d dragged Francesco into this stupid scheme and fucked up their whole friendship, all because of his pathetic pride. He wished none of this had ever happened, he just wanted to go back to the way things used to be. He wanted his Francesco back.

 _His_ Francesco?

Lorenzo glanced sideways at Francesco, who was studying the wedding program as if they hadn’t both read through it about seventeen times already in lieu of making conversation. Lorenzo felt some kind of warm bubbly ache in his chest as he looked at him, something that made him feel like he never wanted to stop looking at him, like he never wanted to stop even being near him.

Something that made him feel like he was teetering on the brink of a life-changing realization.

But the ceremony started before he could fully get there, and he quickly tore his attention away from Francesco and towards the wedding. Despite his insistences to Francesco that he was fully over both of the brides, Lorenzo _had_ worried he might feel some degree of jealousy or sorrow. After all, although things with Lucrezia had never been serious (or monogamous) enough, with Clarice he’d thought about marriage a few times. More because he knew both their mothers wanted it than because either of them particularly wanted it, but still.

Yet as he watched Clarice, beaming and radiant in her white dress, walking down the aisle towards someone who could have been him in another life, the sadness Lorenzo felt wasn’t for her or Lucrezia specifically, it wasn’t for that other life he could’ve had. It was because he’d always dreamed of getting married and thought he would have done it by now, or at least been on the path towards it, but instead here he was single and not in love, and he couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like to have one person you wanted to commit to spending your entire life with because he’d never truly felt that way about anyone except—

Except.

Except the one person he lived with and had seen nearly every single day for the past five years. The person he knew everything about (or at least, more than anyone else knew) and vice versa. The person he trusted the most, the person who was the first he turned to whenever he needed help, even with something as ridiculous as a fake engagement scheme. The person whose absence had marked the Dark Times of his life. The person he never wanted to be apart from again.

The person who was there when he pictured _home_ in his mind.

And as Clarice and Lucrezia started reciting their vows, Lorenzo turned to look at Francesco, feeling like his entire heart was stuck in his throat, simultaneously pushing his feelings out and keeping them choked down inside himself. Francesco was watching the ceremony, but he started and looked over when Lorenzo impulsively reached out and took his hand where it was resting on his lap. Francesco’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and some other emotion Lorenzo couldn’t identify, and Lorenzo waited with bated breath to see what he would do.

After a long moment, Francesco slowly but deliberately extracted his hand from Lorenzo’s grasp, returned it to his lap, and turned his head back towards the front. Lorenzo did likewise, tears burning in his eyes and humiliated disappointment burning in his stomach.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

As they waited to congratulate the brides at the reception, the silence between them was more tense and awkward than ever before. Lorenzo was desperate to think of something, anything to say to fill the silence and lighten the mood, but for once in his life he didn’t have the right words ready on the tip of his tongue, couldn’t find them no matter how hard he searched.

Francesco was refusing to look at him.

By the time their turn came, Lorenzo was wondering on a scale of one to ten how rude it would be to leave immediately after this, because he just couldn’t take any more of this discomfort with Francesco. “Lorenzo, we’re so glad you could come!” Clarice said, and even Lucrezia, with whom things had ended rather less amicably, was smiling at him.

Lorenzo put on a smile of his own. “Congratulations!” he said, hugging them both. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you!”

“Now, Clarice, you’ve met him already, but Lucrezia, this is Francesco, my fiancé—”

“No,” Francesco said suddenly. “No, I’m not his fiancé.”

“Sorry?” Clarice said politely as Lucrezia raised her eyebrows.

“Francesco, what are you doing?” Lorenzo hissed, panicked.

“I’m tired of lying,” Francesco said, though he was still looking at Clarice and Lucrezia rather than him. “When he got the wedding invitation, Lorenzo wanted me to come with him and pretend to be his fiancé to make him look good, and I agreed because—because I always do whatever he wants me to. But I can’t anymore.”

“Francesco—”

“I’m sorry,” Francesco told the brides, his voice starting to tremble a little. “I’m sorry, this isn’t the place for this, I hope I’m not making a scene, I—I have to go, I’m sorry. The ceremony was beautiful, congratulations. I’m sorry.”

And he turned and quickly strode off. “Francesco,” Lorenzo said lamely, torn between chasing after him and staying to smooth things over. Francesco had been speaking quietly and did seem to have avoided making a scene, thank God, although the guests within earshot _were_ all staring at them.

“Lorenzo, is that true?” Clarice said.

He turned back to them, too ashamed to meet their eyes. “It’s true,” he told the ground. “I’m so sorry, it was a ridiculous thing to do, I never should have done it.”

“Why _did_ you do it?”

“Because I was an overly proud idiot who was too embarrassed to show up to his exes’ wedding alone.”

Lucrezia stifled a snort of laughter. “Wow.”

“Okay, in my defense, being invited to an ex’s wedding is awkward enough even when the person they’re marrying isn’t _also_ your ex.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Lucrezia conceded, though when Lorenzo finally glanced up he saw that she was smirking at him.

“It wasn’t that I was jealous of either of you specifically,” he said. “I just…I don’t know. Seeing that two people I’d dated had found their soulmates—I guess I wanted to pretend that I’d also found my soulmate.”

Because he was lonely. Because he hadn’t had a meaningful relationship that lasted more than a few months since…well, since Clarice. Because as much as people (Francesco) called him a hoe, there was a part of him that craved the feeling of having one committed partner. That feeling of stability, of home.

The feeling he had when Francesco was around. God, why hadn’t he realized it years ago?

“But…haven’t you?” Clarice said. “Found your soulmate.”

Lorenzo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Francesco,” she said simply. “I don’t know him, but I know _you,_ Lorenzo, and I saw the way you were looking at him when I ran into you two at the store weeks ago, and again just now. It was all over your face. You love him.”

“I…yes,” Lorenzo said in a small voice. Admitting it out loud felt so monumental and kind of terrifying. “But he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Are you sure?” Lucrezia said. “Because if agreeing to something as idiotic as pretending to be someone’s fiancé to help them save face isn’t an act of love, I don’t know what is.”

“And he didn’t sound angry about you making him pretend to be your fiancé,” Clarice added. “He sounded hurt.”

Lorenzo stared at them, struggling to process this idea. What if…could Francesco _really_ feel the same way? But he’d pulled away when Lorenzo tried to hold his hand, not to mention everything he’d said just now about being sick of pretending to be in love with him. And how distant he’d been acting towards him ever since their kisses.

Unless…could it be that Francesco _was_ in love with him, and all of that was actually him pulling away to protect himself? Lorenzo knew how he was. If Francesco was angry with someone, he didn’t fail to make that clearly known. It was when he cared, when he loved that he tried to hide it, still afraid of opening his heart to someone and giving them the chance to break it after all the times he’d experienced hurt and loss in his childhood.

“Oh my God,” Lorenzo breathed. “I-I have to find him, I have to talk to him.”

“Yes, you do,” Clarice said. “You heard him, he’s sick of lying. So just tell him the truth about how you feel.”

“I will. Okay. Thank you. And I’m sorry for making you give your ex relationship advice at your own wedding.”

Clarice laughed. “It’ll make a funny story for later. Now _go.”_

And Lorenzo obediently hurried off, calling a final congratulations and thanks and apology over his shoulder as the nearby guests started chuckling and whispering amongst themselves.

* * *

“What _idiots,”_ Lucrezia remarked. “The pair of them.”

Clarice shook her head in fond exasperation. “Men.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t marry one.”

“Me too.”

* * *

Francesco wished he’d driven them here instead of Lorenzo. Sure, it might’ve been mean to zoom off in his car and leave Lorenzo stranded, but it would’ve been better than the alternative, which was moping around near the entrance to the vineyard hoping that he could magically teleport home without having to see Lorenzo again, ever, for the rest of his life. On second thoughts, it would be ideal if he could teleport to another planet instead.

Francesco didn’t know why he’d snapped like that. After all the ridiculousness he’d gone through over the past six weeks, it was the one moment they’d actually _intended_ to be fake engaged for that he suddenly couldn’t cope with the lie anymore? He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets, gazing up towards the main house; the reception was being held in the garden just behind it, so hopefully if Lorenzo decided to try and follow him, Francesco would see him first and be able to hide before being seen himself.

The lie, he thought, had become a thousand times harder to cope with since he’d realized a week ago that he was in love with Lorenzo. Every time he heard Lorenzo introduce him as his fiancé or say something about how much he loved him, it felt like the universe was mocking him. _Ha ha look, Francesco, the one thing you want most in the world is right within your grasp, but it’s all an act. Lorenzo will never say these things and mean them._

And when Lorenzo had tried to hold his hand during the ceremony, it was just too much. Knowing Lorenzo was only doing this to further the ruse of being in love when it was everything Francesco secretly wanted. Knowing that what they’d been playing at for the past six weeks would never become reality, knowing that Lorenzo would never hold his hand because he actually wanted to. So hearing Lorenzo yet again introduce him as his fiancé at the reception—Francesco had snapped.

Which he was seriously regretting now, because he’d embarrassed himself in front of Lorenzo and Clarice and Lucrezia and God knew however many other people had been listening. Not to mention he’d embarrassed _Lorenzo_ and probably made him pretty angry by blowing his cover like that. Well, at least they wouldn’t have to pretend they’d had a falling out to call off the fake engagement, because Lorenzo was genuinely going to not want to speak to him after this.

Unfortunately, Francesco was so busy wallowing in self-pity that he forgot to pay attention to the house, until he heard someone calling his name. “Francesco? Francesco, where are you?”

Panicked, he looked up and saw that Lorenzo was wandering around, much closer than he would’ve liked, though at least he didn’t seem to have spotted him yet. Francesco looked around wildly for a hiding place and saw a tree nearby, and next thing he knew, he was dashing over towards it and climbing up. He was pretty sure the adrenaline was the only thing allowing him to do so, because he hadn’t climbed a tree since he was a very small child—climbing trees was one of the approximately seven thousand things Jacopo had disapproved of.

Francesco made it up to a large and sturdy-looking branch and perched himself precariously on it, feeling like he was going to fall off any second and realizing that there was probably a reason grown adults didn’t climb trees. He hoped he was high enough that Lorenzo wouldn’t be able to see him…

…but no such luck, because the universe hated him today. And every day, really. “Francesco? Why are you up there?”

Dammit, dammit, _dammit._ Francesco reluctantly looked down and saw that Lorenzo was standing right below him and staring up at him. “I like the view from up here,” he said.

“Are you hiding from me?”

 _“No,_ I said I liked the view from up here.”

“Oh. Well, can you come down? I want to talk to you.”

Honestly, Francesco wasn’t sure he _could_ come down even if he wanted to. “Talk to me from there,” he said stubbornly. “I like the view.”

Lorenzo sighed. “All right, fine. I wanted to ask…why?”

“Why what?” Francesco said even though he knew exactly what.

“Why did you tell them about the lie? We only had to keep up with it for ten more seconds and then we would’ve been done with it forever.”

Lorenzo didn’t sound angry or accusatory at all, which somehow made Francesco feel worse. Even as upset and conflicted and heartbroken as he was, he felt bad that he’d embarrassed Lorenzo so thoroughly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry, I know how mad you must be—”

“I’m not mad,” Lorenzo said.

“You’re…not?”

“No.”

“But I embarrassed you.”

“Clarice and Lucrezia were pretty cool about it, actually, I think they thought it was funny. And besides, I don’t care about that, I don’t care what they think of me, I don’t care about all the embarrassment in the world, I’m just upset because _you’re_ upset,” Lorenzo said, his expression so earnest it made Francesco’s heart hurt even more. “This scheme has for some reason done something to hurt you—”

“No, it hasn’t,” Francesco lied. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“You’re not. I know you, I can tell. You’re hurting, and I don’t know _exactly_ why, but I know it’s because of me. And I’m so sorry, Francesco, I never wanted to hurt you with all of this. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

Francesco meant to say _I’m fine_ again, but what ended up coming out was, “It’s not your fault.” Which was basically an admission that he _was_ hurting. Maybe there was no use trying to hide it anyway; Lorenzo had always been able to see right through him.

“It _is_ my fault,” Lorenzo said. “Will you at least tell me why you’re so upset? And have been all week?”

Francesco let out a humorless little laugh and shifted his position slightly, which was a mistake, as the branch creaked ominously. “I can’t,” he said.

“You can’t tell me? Why not?”

 _Because it would ruin our friendship. Because you would hate me._ “You wouldn’t understand,” Francesco said.

“Try me.” But Francesco remained silent for so long that Lorenzo eventually said, “All right, fine, you don’t have to tell me. But…there’s something _I_ have to tell _you.”_

Surprised, Francesco looked down at him and saw that he seemed nervous, yet determined. What could he possibly have to say to him? “Okay,” he said. “So…?”

“So,” Lorenzo said, “I…I’m in love with you, Francesco.”

Francesco didn’t know if it was due to the shock of those words or simply gravity finally winning out, but suddenly he felt himself losing his balance and tumbling through the air. His last thought was something along the lines of, _So this is how I die. Falling out of a tree while trying to literally hide from my feelings._

However, he quickly realized that he was not, in fact, dying, as he crashed into something big and soft that let out a loud _oof_ when he landed. “Oh God,” Lorenzo wheezed. “You’re heavier than you look, what kind of muscles are you packing under there?”

“Lorenzo?” Francesco lifted his head and realized that he was on top of Lorenzo, who was lying flat on his back on the ground. “What the hell, why did you move _into_ the way?”

“I was trying to be romantic and catch you, it just didn’t exactly work out. _Ow.”_

“Are you hurt?” Francesco said anxiously. “Did you hit your head?” He reached out to nudge Lorenzo’s head up off the ground and feel the back of it for blood or a bump, but to his relief all seemed normal.

“I’m fine,” Lorenzo soothed him. Then he grinned. “Hey, Francesco?”

“What?”

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Francesco groaned. “With anyone else I’d say a pickup line that atrocious was proof they _did_ hit their head, but since that’s pretty much standard Lorenzo…”

Lorenzo laughed and reached up to touch his cheek, smiling at him so tenderly that his confession pre-fall suddenly came back to Francesco. He grew serious once more, looking into Lorenzo’s eyes, studying his expression to try and gauge the sincerity of what he’d said. “You’re…” Francesco cleared his throat. “You’re in love with me?”

“Deeply,” Lorenzo said.

“Like, for real? This isn’t still part of the fake engagement?”

“Not in the slightest,” Lorenzo promised. “I’m in love with you, completely for real.”

“Oh.” Francesco couldn’t manage to say anything else, he was so overwhelmed with emotion it was like his throat was stuck shut. Lorenzo was in love with him. Lorenzo was truly, genuinely in love with him.

“So, is there any chance my feelings are returned, or…?”

Francesco focused back on the present and saw that despite his lighthearted tone, there was genuine anxiety in Lorenzo’s eyes. So he smiled and leaned down until their foreheads were resting together. “A pretty good chance, I think,” he said, and then he kissed him for the third time ever, except it felt more like the first time because this one was on purpose, this one was _real._

Lorenzo kissed him back, and Francesco closed his eyes and sighed contentedly as Lorenzo started playing with his hair. “I love your hair,” he murmured between kisses.

Francesco smiled against his lips. “I can tell.”

“And your glasses. They didn’t break or anything when you fell, did they?”

“No, they’re fine.”

“Good, because they’re ridiculously sexy and it would’ve been a tragedy to lose them.”

“And more importantly, I wouldn’t have been able to see anything.”

“I think mine was more important.”

Francesco laughed and kissed him again, and again and again and again, until finally Lorenzo said, “Okay, not that I want to interrupt this, but I don’t really want to be lying on the ground anymore,” and started nudging him off.

Francesco sighed and got to his feet, then held out a hand to help Lorenzo up. “Do we _have_ to go back there?” he said, gesturing up at the house as Lorenzo dusted himself off. “I’m too embarrassed. And you should be also, though I’m sure you’re not.”

“It’s hard to be embarrassed when I’m so happy,” Lorenzo said cheerfully, taking his hands and pulling him close for yet another kiss. “And we _should_ go back, but I’m sure Clarice and Lucrezia will understand if we don’t, seeing as they’re the ones who encouraged me to chase after you and declare my love. Honestly, they probably won’t even notice, there’s so many people there.”

“So can we go home now, then?” Francesco said. “Because you’ve racked up a _lot_ of favors, and I’m finally starting to think of some good ways to cash them in.”

He bit his lip immediately after he said it, worried he’d gone too far, but Lorenzo, being a shameless hoe, just grinned at him and looked delighted. “Oh, _absolutely_ we can go home and cash in those favors,” he said. “As long as you do _me_ one last little favor and promise to keep those glasses on the whole time.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me anyway.”

Was it normal for your face to start hurting after so much smiling, or were Francesco’s muscles just too unused to the sensation? “I do.”

* * *

“So you see, we were never really engaged,” Lorenzo concluded at the next Saturday night Medici family dinner. “And we’re sorry for lying to you all. But now—”

He didn’t get to finish his announcement, as he was drowned out by his mother starting to yell at him, Bianca demanding more details, Guglielmo asking Francesco why he would agree to this, and above it all, Giuliano crying, “Oh, thank God! Francesco’s not really going to be my brother-in-law! This is the best day of my life! Thank you, Jesus!”

“Hold on, everyone, I wasn’t done!” Lorenzo said loudly to be heard, and after a minute they all quieted down. “I was _going_ to say that although our engagement was fake, it made us realize that we actually do have real feelings for each other. So now we _are_ together. Just dating, though, not engaged.”

“Wait, what?” Bianca said.

Lorenzo smiled and looked at Francesco, who was sitting next to him looking embarrassed yet pleased. Lorenzo took his hand under the table and squeezed it. “Francesco is my boyfriend,” he said. “For real.”

There was a beat of silence, then Lucrezia said, “Oh, well, I suppose that’s something, though I do wish you hadn’t lied before—”

“I _knew_ that kiss at the Christmas party had to be real,” Bianca said with a grin. “That was _steamy.”_

“So, do you want more parenting practice with Giovanna?” Guglielmo said with uncharacteristic slyness. “I don’t know if those three kids Lorenzo mentioned are still on the table…”

Francesco turned bright red. “Uh, that’s not a conversation we’re planning to circle back to for a _long_ time.”

“But we _are_ going to circle back to it _eventually,”_ Lorenzo said, laughing when that made Francesco go even redder.

“No!” Giuliano was wailing. “You gave me hope and then took it away! Why couldn’t you have started with the bad news?!”

“We actually owe you a lot, Giuliano,” Lorenzo said. “You’re singlehandedly responsible for our first kiss.”

“Yeah, we might never have realized how we felt if not for you,” Francesco said, smirking at him.

Giuliano groaned. “That’s it, I am officially swearing off any mistletoe-related pranks for the rest of my life.”

“Goodness, if I’d known that was all it took to get Giuliano to stop doing something, I would have employed you two years ago,” Lucrezia remarked.

“Well, think of something else you want to get him to stop doing, and we’ll try to work that into it when we get engaged for real,” Lorenzo said.

“When?” Francesco said, raising an eyebrow, though he was smiling. “Not ‘if’?”

Lorenzo smiled back and put his arm around him. “When,” he confirmed. “After all, I’ve already gotten a taste of being engaged to you, and I have to say, on the whole I did enjoy it.”

Francesco leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder, and for a moment Giuliano’s continued complaints and the rest of the family’s questions faded away and it was like there was no one in the room but the two of them. “Me too,” he said.


End file.
